


Nonserviceably

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Scream Queens (TV 2015)
Genre: Community: femslash_kink, Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Chanel wants is for her minions to lavish her with attention and orgasms and to<i> not</i> be incompetent idiots all the damn time. Is that so much to ask?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nonserviceably

**Author's Note:**

> Character spoilers for _Scream Queens_. Set before _Pilot_. Written for [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/), prompt "service", and for [The Femslash Kink Meme](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org), [prompt](http://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html?thread=2191301#cmt2191301) "Chanel/Chanel #2/Chanel #3/Chanel #5, service".

It’s been a long day of strutting around campus and looking awesome. Honestly, people don’t understand how much work goes into a typical Chanel Oberlin day - she has to be a source of inspiration to the greasy hordes of Wallace University whilst also making it clear that her level of hotness is completely unattainable for anyone but herself. That kind of balance is _hard_.

She sashays around her closet, her minions moving obediently in her wake. Chanel Number Two is on wardrobe duty, unzipping Chanel’s dress as she ascends the stairs. Chanel Number Three is on accessories, removing Chanel’s diamond tennis bracelet when she extends her arm. Chanel Number Five works shoes, managing not to drop Chanel’s Louboutins when they’re kicked at her face.

Number Two holds up Chanel’s fluffy pink bathrobe for her to slip into. Number Three hands over a ridiculously soft hand towel with Chanel’s name in silver embroidery. Number Five drops to her knees and sets Chanel’s bath slippers on the floor so she can step into them without breaking her stride.

Her Chanels are no-brained whores more often than not, but they do have their uses.

Like after her shower, when Chanel finds them waiting for her in her bedroom. “I’m tired,” she announces, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “And you all know the fastest way to help me get to sleep.” Chanel settles on the bed, reclining artfully against the silk pillows. She makes eye contact with each of her Chanels, smirking at the way they’re turned to her, desperately attentive. “Make me _come_ , sluts.” 

Number Two’s eyes narrow appreciatively. Number Three’s pupils dilate. Number Five looks like she’s _already_ panting. 

Chanel spreads her legs, lace negligee riding higher up her thighs. “Snap to it, then.”

Number Five moves forward first. She kneels between Chanel’s legs, breathing in deep, and then she’s leaning forward, pressing her lips to Chanel’s pussy. Her mouth is warm, and Chanel sighs happily, pushing her fingers into Number Five’s hair and trying to ignore how ugly her roots look. Number Five kisses and licks at her almost tentatively, because apparently no matter how many times they do this, she’s never going to get the hint that Chanel wants it _harder_. 

“Is that good?” Number Five asks, words kind of muffled into Chanel’s cunt, but that usual shrill and insecure tone is still as recognisable as nails on a chalkboard. “Do you like it, Chanel?”

This time Chanel’s sigh is significantly more pissy. “I’d like it more if you stopped fucking around,” she hisses, wriggling her hips pointedly. And for a few minutes, it actually _works_. Number Five presses down, drags the flat of her tongue against Chanel’s labia, and Chanel’s getting warmer, wetter, really starting to _feel_ it.

But then it starts again; that squeaky little voice asking, “What about this, do you like this? Tell me what you like, Chanel? Please, is this good? Do you like it when I do this?”

Chanel’s teeth grit. Her fingernails dig into the sheets. All that pleasure starting to heat up her stomach feels like it’s cooling right back down. “For God’s sake, Number Five!” she barks, and Number Five blinks up at her with wide eyes. “I get that you don’t have a lot of experience with vaginas, since you can’t get yourself off without losing a finger to your vaginal teeth.” Number Five opens her mouth, whimpering slightly, but Chanel barrels on. “But there’s a difference between dirty talk and twenty fucking questions, and right now you are turning me the hell off!”

Number Five opens and closes her mouth a few more times. Chanel just glares until Number Five slinks backwards and away from the bed. 

Number Three steps forward, and Chanel tries to huff out her annoyance and focus instead on the way Number Three instantly starts working Chanel’s clit, as blunt and straight to the point as always. She sucks at it, her thumb dragging down Chanel’s pussy and pushing up against her, not quite enough pressure to slide inside but just enough to _tease_. Chanel relaxes into it, body falling right back into that building wave of lust, Number Three’s lips tight around her clit, the flick of her tongue making sparks gather between Chanel’s legs.

She gasps, thighs tightening around Number Three’s head instinctively, and then she’s yelping and jerking away.

Number Three just stares at Chanel with her usual placid non-expression.

“God _damn_ it!” Chanel snarls. “Your stupid earmuffs - I’ve _told_ you not to wear those ones in bed.” There are angry pink marks blooming across Chanel’s inner thighs in the exact shape of the gold metal spikes circled around the diamonds on the earmuffs.

She’s going to have to wear a longer skirt tomorrow; she can’t go outside with visible _imperfections_.

Number Three just shrugs, nonplussed, and moves off the bed while Chanel glowers at her.

Then it’s Number Two’s turn. There’s no spiky jewellery, no insecure babbling. She just opens her mouth against Chanel’s cunt and fucks straight in with two fingers. Chanel moans, feeling spread and full, feeling the drag of skin and heat and smooth friction along her insides. Number Two works her open with practiced movements, getting her so slick and swollen and ready. Chanel can feel herself clenching down on those deft fingers, and she’s been getting closer and closer under their mouths, but now she’s almost there, _almost_ …

Number Two rocks back on her knees, fingers abruptly pulling free. Chanel manages to bluster, caught on the edge of orgasm but not quite there, as Number Two drops her hand between her own legs and starts fucking _herself_ instead.

“I - Wha - I wasn’t _done_!” Chanel shrieks. 

And Number Two, the catty bitch, just raises an eyebrow and keeps screwing herself, like Chanel isn’t her first and only priority or something.

“You’re all useless!” Chanel screams, because what’s the point of having minions to happily service you if they never get it _right_?! She pouts and whines and shoves her own hand down, cupping her pussy and pushing in with her fingers, feeling how wet they’ve gotten her. Her thumb rubs against her clit, and all of them watch her, their attention rapt.

Number Two keeps fingering herself. Number Three slips a hand beneath her satin pyjama pants. Number Five balls her hands at her sides and gasps. They all watch Chanel as she gets herself off, gazes hungry as hell. And Chanel knows she looks hot, but the way they look at her _does_ make her come harder, knowing the sight of her turns them on. So they’re good for that, at least.

She flops back against the sheets, her whole body heated up, tingles running through her muscles and her fingers still buried deep.

“You’re all about as useful as a dildo made of blue cheese,” Chanel grumbles, but she _is_ feeling sleepy now. So mission accomplished: she learned long ago that if something needs doing right, she should absolutely delegate it, but everyone except for her is a moron so she’s _still_ going to end up doing it herself.

Number Three tilts her head. “You should let us try again,” she murmurs.

Number Five nods enthusiastically. “I can do better!” she promises.

Number Two gives her a faux-sweet smile. “Unless you don’t think you’re up for it,” she taunts.

Well, Chanel _would_ sleep better after _two_ orgasms.

She grins, mean and sharp. “Bring it on, bitches!” she sneers. “But change those fucking earmuffs first.”


End file.
